This is why I won't give my number out to rednecks

I live in Texas, so naturally there are a few hick-talking, cowboy-loving, shotgun-owning residents. I would know; my brother owns like 7 horses.  But not everyone fits these stereotypes. Sure, there are a few vehicles straight out of the Dukes of Hazzard with the confederate flag plastered on the top of that Longhorn orange. And I actually get the reference, so you know I’ve lived in Texas my whole life; but I’m not into the whole country scene. Yes, I own cowboy boots and wear them with dresses; however, I don’t like the music and am not a huge fan of barbeque (to the shock and disappointment of my dad). My mom is from the part of Texas closer to the Louisiana boarder. Sometimes her accent comes out and my brother and I make fun of her southern draaawwlll. You know, the one that you’d expect if you went to a Southern Baptist church and heard the pastor exclaiming, “Praise be to the Lawd.” Not Lord. Lawd. Side note: we aren’t Baptists and not all Baptists speak that way. Most of the family members on her side carry that accent, which is a far cry from the Hispanic side of my dad, but that’s a whole different story, for an entirely different time.

Ironically, my brother, Aaron, my mom, and I were driving home from a trip to Houston. We tend to blast music, or talk, or comment about the UFOs we see in the sky abducting herds of cows in the middle of No-wheres-ville, Texas. I also have a problem with checking my phone. This goes for anytime. You can call me, I usually won’t answer. And it’s not because I’m either “sleeping or praising Jesus” as my voicemail insinuates—although, I do sleep an awful lot—but, it’s because I am just really bad about taking my phone with me. So my phone rang, and naturally, I didn’t answer. Boy, am I glad I didn’t. When I checked my voicemail 10 minutes later, I had a rollercoaster of emotions. At first I found it hilarious, then I found it very threatening and feared for the safety of my life, and then I settled into a nice punch-drunk stupor of excitement at the treasure I had just stumbled upon.

I know absolutely nothing about this “George” character, but I learned a few things:
1. It was a wrong number.
2. He was very angry I didn’t answer and guessed that I was asleep.
3. He’s been looking for the person he meant to call for 3 weeks.
4. He owns a gun.

I played the voicemail to my brother and mom and they, I assume, had the same rush of emotions. At first we thought he was calling a hit on someone. I mean, he talked about needing this person to do a “job” for him and he also said he’d “get his shotgun and pepper my butt,” so it was just a miscommunication, or we heard it wrong, or whatever. To say the least, it was the highlight of our car ride. I’m also very concerned for the wellbeing of the person he was trying to contact. 3 weeks? Come on, George. People don’t just avoid you for 3 weeks. He’s either mad at you (and you know what? I would be too. You threatened to shoot him and wanted him to do some yard work or something around the house. Also, you dialed the wrong number and didn’t even bother listening to my voicemail greeting, in which, it’s clear the owner of the phone is a girl. This shows you aren’t a very good listener. I feel like this relationship isn’t going both ways) or he’s missing. George, you have bigger fish to fry then whatever you need done around the house. You need to work on your people skills, and potentially call the cops to report a missing person. 

I’m tempted to call back and tell him this. But then, I’m afraid he’ll pepper my butt with his shotgun. Never underestimate a redneck.

 Want to hear a clip of George/ see my reaction?